When they reached the camp, the Duke turned to Paks. “I think you should be the one to tell your cohort that Siniava is dead, and how he died.” His voice was neutral; Paks could not tell if he was still angry.
“Yes, my lord.”
“You have my thanks for a duty faithfully—even more than faithfully—performed.”
“And our thanks also,” said Aliam Halveric. His smile was as open as ever, the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Whatever power enabled you to resist the spell, it is clear that without you that scum might have escaped.” He looked at the Duke. “That power, too, must have our thanks and praise.”
The Duke’s shoulders shifted. “We can speak of that later. As for now, Aliam, you and I must arrange the taking of that citadel. Paksenarrion has more immediate duties, as well.”
The Halveric was no longer smiling. “Later, perhaps, Kieri—but after this night’s work, we can no longer ignore it.”
The Duke sighed. “No, I suppose not. Go on, Paks, and tell the rest. And get some sleep. If it comes to fighting, we’ll want your blade as well.”
If Stammel had not been awake by one of the watchfires, Paks might have fallen asleep without telling her news. But in telling him, the excitement woke her again, and soon she was the center of a breathless crowd.
“And you’re sure he’s dead,” said someone into the silence that followed her recital.
“They brought his head back on a pole,” said Paks. “I didn’t see it as we came—it must be in the Halveric camp now.”
“But you caught him,” said another voice. “It should be our trophy.”
“The Halveric killed him. And the paladin—Sir Fenith—helped catch him. I didn’t do it alone—”
“Still—” Paks recognized Barranyi’s voice, this time.
“Hush, Barra,” said Natzlin. “It doesn’t bother Paks, and she did it.”
“How did they kill him?” asked Vossik, who had not heard the first of the story. Paks tensed.
“The Halveric killed him,” she said again. “With a sword.”
“Huh. Slowly, I’ll bet, after what he did to his sons.”
“No.” Paks wished she were far away, as she felt the pressure of surprise and curiosity. She stared into the fire. “One stroke,” she said finally. “In the neck.”
Stammel whistled. “That’s—something. To show mercy like that—” He was clearly impressed. Some of the others were frowning, but Paks saw many of the older veterans relax, as if they had feared worse. Barranyi’s voice broke a brief silence.
“But why? After all he’d done—I’d think the Duke would do something! It’s not right, that he should die so easy.” Paks felt almost sick at the venom in Barra’s voice. Before she could gather her words, Vossik interrupted Barra.
“No! That’s what makes us different. Such leaders as that—that you can trust to do the right thing even under pressure. By—” he paused and looked at Stammel. “By Gird and Falk and the High Lord himself, I’m proud we’ve got such men to lead our companies.” Vossik turned to Paks, grinning. “I daresay you weren’t eager for torture, were you now?”
Paks felt herself blushing. “No,” she muttered. She hoped no one would ask what the Duke had actually said.
“I thought not.” Vossik sounded relaxed and happy. “This is an honorable company, and always has been, and always will be. Remember that, Barra.” She made no answer.
Stammel was smiling too. “Well now. Just let us get this citadel taken care of, and we’ll be back to normal. And a lot richer, I don’t doubt. You, too, Paks—you’ll have a bonus for this night’s work.” He stretched. “Now I can sleep. I’d been so worried he’d have some magic and escape again.” He stood, reaching a hand to Paks. “Come on, warrior. Even you need sleep before the assault.” Paks clambered up, meeting the admiring glances of her friends as she moved away. What she had left unsaid cluttered her throat.
No one woke her in the morning; the sun was high when she finally opened her eyes. The tent was almost empty; two others slept at the far end. Paks stretched and yawned. She didn’t want to move. She heard voices outside and got up reluctantly. Outside, the day was fair and warm; it would be hot by noon. She headed for the cooks’ tent.
“There you are.” Stammel came up behind her. “You’ll be glad to know that the troops in the citadel want to surrender.”
Paks pulled her mind back to the present. “Oh. Good.”
“They’re afraid to open the gates, they say. I don’t blame them. They would expect the worst from us.” He waited to say more until no one was near. “Paks—the others are back now. I spoke to Arñe and Vik. There’s a lot you didn’t say last night.”
Paks blushed. She was afraid of his next question. Instead of asking, he went on.
“I’m glad you didn’t. The Duke’s a good man; you know that. I’ve known him a long time; I know why he might lose his temper. But you were right, Paks, however angry he was, or may be stilclass="underline" he’s not the kind to torture. Only he wasn’t himself for a bit.” He went on more briskly. “I don’t think the others will talk about it—I had to pull the truth out of Vik with a rope, nearly. He feared I’d be angry with you.”
Paks found herself grinning at Stammel’s tone. When she looked up, his brown eyes were twinkling.
“You’d best watch yourself, though,” he said. “If things keep happening around you, and you keep siding with paladins, it’ll rub off, and we’ll only see you from far away, as you ride past on your fancy charger.” His tone was only half joking.
For an instant the thought made Paks’s heart leap, but she forced the image away. “No,” she said firmly. “I’m staying here, in the Company, with my friends. If the Duke isn’t too angry—” For she remembered the icy glare he’d given her.
“He’s fair; he won’t hold it against you. But Paks, it’s not that bad an idea,” said Stammel more earnestly. “If you have the chance, I’d say take it. You’ve got the fighting skills, and you care about the right and wrong of things. You’d make friends elsewhere—” Paks shook her head. Stammel sighed. “Have you thought,” he asked, “that your two years is up these many months? You’re due a leave—you could go north and see your family—look around—”
Paks was startled. She had forgotten all about the “two years beyond training” in her first contract. “I hadn’t thought,” she said. As she mused on it, the sights and smells of Three Firs came back to her. The baker’s shop, the well, the striped awnings that hung out on market day. And beyond the town the great rolling lift of the moors, and the first sight of the dark slate roof of her father’s house. Tears stung her eyes. “I could—I could take my dowry back—” she said.
“So you could. Your share this campaign should do it. Think about it. The Duke will be granting us all leave unless he takes us back north.”
“And I wouldn’t be leaving the Company.”
“No. Not unless you wanted to.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said, and Stammel nodded and left her.
Siniava’s troops surrendered that day, but not to the Duke: to the combined city militia. Paks did not even see the prisoners; she heard that they’d been taken away toward Vonja. The Duke’s Company entered the citadel only for plunder; they found the only treasure at the inside opening of the secret passage. Several chests of gold, Stammel said, would pay for the entire campaign, leaving aside their share of Cha and Sibili. Paks heard from Arñe that Siniava’s bodyguards had all been carrying jewels and gold. “That’s what slowed them down in the fight,” she joked.